I look for you
In passing faces
A stranger's glance
In haunted places

I feel you among
Nature's grandest setting
It is you that I remember
Even when I'm forgetting

I see you wherever I go
In everyone I meet
Your words echo in conversations
That pass me on the street

Your soft, easy way
That safe familiar tone
That always takes me back
To a time long gone

Misty sunrise beautiful
Pale gold and icy blue
Steeped in iridescence
Each color alive within the other
Today I saw love
And it felt like you

We wait and wait, we wait til the time travels forward. The time, when tensions rise past the rows of gratitude and the fallen.

One young man asked me the other day "When will I see the elephants"
My humble response was with a resolve, "I don't know son, but when the parade starts, you will shortly know"

Gratious souls scurry in lines to defend their homes against the tyranny of the enemy.
Days would pass, one after another, waiting for the call of action, waiting for their turn to fire back.

A warning shot was heard from across the horizon. Clusters of smoke peaked through the forest trees,
arms exploded with each pull of the trigger.

Dropping like flies on a hot summer day. Men of all ages laid dead on the battlefield.  You could smell death in the air as the winds of change shifted ever so slightly.

That same young man, to whom was waiting for the parade, had been shot next to his heart. He laid fallen across my lap. I held his head ever so gently. My hands quivered with sadness and solemn tears.

Pierced just once by the bullet, a single hole in his chest bleed slowly across his body. With his glazed over eyes and a slight smile of his face, he whispered to me, "I saw the elephants and tell my wife goodbye"

I held his hand as he took his last breathe.

That parade was his final battle and seeing the elephants was his final moment.

She sits from where
the rainbow arches into the river.

As I eye her fishing net
she reads the question in my mind.

I'm waiting for three thirty
when tides begin to fall
but the shrimps can't go back.

When the bank begins to bare
she glides into the waves
till the water cools her *******.

I walk away knowing
she would bob up to the hour
the moon is upon her face
and she has made another morrow
from the river.

Sweeter than the song of a nightingale 
Gentler than the whisper of a spring wind
Quieter than the murmur of  summer  grass 
Softer than the symphony of hyacinths 

Hypnotic like the splash of blue seas
Tinkling like a stream that flows 
Mesmerizing like the cadence of rain 
Enchanting like the hush  of snow 

Like the faint breath of a scarlet dawn 
The rustle of clouds on a turquoise high 
A duet of  night and an ivory moon
A Capella of  stars in the sky

A hymn, a chant, a choir of angels 
Singing  on a rainbow of time 
Celestial is the serenade of love  
A tune and a note divine.